Dream On, Felicity (Animal Jam Fan Fiction)
by FrostyTheEvilSnowman
Summary: Felicity. The heir to her father's wealth, a loving family, and everything she could ever want at her fingertips. Her life is utterly perfect, or so she believes. As she learns that there is a breathing war outside her own household, she is made a prime target for homicide in a world with no mercy...


Dream on, **Felicity**

Dreams. A funny instance when pondered upon. How are dreams caused? Does it derive your nearest memories or your furthest? It may even be appropriate to go as far as to describe dreams as supernatural. I, myself, being an heiress to my father's vast wealth formed from his international oil partnership, have never been one to dream. I had had everything I could ever dream right at my fingertips. I had a beautiful array of people whom serve my family and I, an excellent education, the money to never work a day in my own life, and the ability to take part in any vacation or activity my heart ever desired. It was just my mother, my father, and my beloved brother Ryland, and I.

A small family in a large household we were. Though it is often said money will tear a relationship to pieces, our family, I believe, had to be the most caring of all there were in the land of Jamaa.

My father was the most caring man of all I had seen in my own lifetime. He would be my shoulder to cry on, the one who provides his own family with unconditional love, and the wolf who always puts his own family before his job. My mother may have been one to spend money often aimlessly, but she had always kept her own values in mind. She cared for Ryland and I like not a single living thing mattered outside of the two of us. She had been there for me whenever I needed her, which is about all that any child could ask of his or her parents.

All I knew about the world and everything around we was simply that they were all perfect. This was, in fact, all I had ever been taught; that everyone lives the exact same life as myself, which is the only flaw I regret my parents letting me believe. This had always been the case up until I had begun experiencing those dreadful dreams.

"Felicity! You want to come down before your breakfast cools now don't you?" Farrah, our family's delightful chef, bellowed from the kitchen.

I uttered an unmistakingly tired groan and yanked myself out of my luscious pink king mattress and onto the fuzz which was my dreamy carpeted flooring. The moment I had reached the end of the room onto the cold, dark wood flooring, a shudder of ice made its way through my body; finally waking me up. The grand spiraling staircase had then led me down to the kitchen where I procured a seat at the end of our breakfast table directly facing the dining room which holds up to 50 individuals in its monstrous table; this room was either full or near full every Friday of the week. After I sat down, Farrah had immediately brought me my favorite of her breakfast dishes, "crêpes a la reine".

"Thank you so much Farrah these look delicious!" I congratulated her as I commonly do.

She then gave me one of her traditional warm smiles; though there was something different about it today, as if she possessed a sense of fear.

"Is something wrong?" I questioned her with concern.

She quickly darted her eyes at the ceiling in an untrustworthy fashion. "Everything is fine Ms. Felicity. Please do not partake in wasting your time with my own issues. I suggest you finish your breakfast. Remember you must attend school in an hour." And at that she darted from the kitchen to her quarters

_What could possibly be wrong? _I wondered. _Nothing is ever wrong in the Mousel household if not all of Jamaa..._

I would definitely not consider my school to be alike any other known to wolf-kind. For one, my brother and I are the only attendants. My whole childhood, in fact, was basically the same condition; simply Ryland and I. Of course I have been with other children my age in my lifetime, but I never had the pleasure of meeting them by chance in an environment such as a school. Every friend, if that term is even appropriate, I have ever had had been put together by my parents; always with aristocratic families like ourselves. I never had then chance to choose my own destiny, to carve my own path; my parents or some servant had always done that for me.

Being fourteen, I guess you could consider me one to attend middle school so I made my way to my first period which was History. This school, if I can even use that term, always appeared so large to me even with its almost comical number of students. The turns and winds of the halls are like a labyrinth; one wrong turn and it is likely that you are in complete disorientation. When I finally reached my designated class, I took a seat in the only chair within the room; the pink sofa chair. In contrast to a regular chair, this one was never cold to the touch, but welcoming and comfortable, which made me feel secure in such an environment but at the same time lonely.

At the front of the class stood Mr. Wellington, one of the highest ranked history teachers of Jamaa if not the region. He was a short, stubby wolf with a gruff but sweetly countenance. Though I do not know his exact age, I would estimate that he is in his late fifties possibly early sixties. He turned from the board into the front of his wooden podium while smiling delicately and nodding in consent to my attendance then walked over to his desk to begin attendance (which I have never understood in all my years of education).

"Felicity Mousel?" He stated.

"Present," I responded appropriately.

"Good, now if we could begin, I believe we left off on the Jamaa Kimbara Diplomacy?"

"That is correct," I answered. _Why was Farrah upset? How could anyone ever be upset in our world? _I pondered. _Does Mr. Wellington know this issue more in depth? Ask __**him**_.

"Now if I were to continue—" Mr. Wellington begun as I quickly cut him off.

"Mr. Wellington?" I interrupted.

"Yes Ms. Mousel?"

"Is the world really always happy as you explain during class? Is there truly never a disagreement between one another?"

I noticed that immediately after I stated that his heart rate increased as well as his perspiration.

"Why yes. We are wolves, we know how to cope with issues effectively and not dispute through rage. This has always been the case." He said almost robotically; as if he had been programed to say so in such an occurrence. His whole appearance was so familiar, so _Farrah. _I could not have been more convinced that I had been left out of an imperative circle of necessary information. Though I was itching to extremity to continue with questioning, I did not wish to trouble Mr. Wellington emotionally any more than I already had so I eased my curiosity.

"Now then," he began, "If we are to continue on to more _important _matters…"

This had appeared to be the longest school day I had ever been given the time to sit through. The whole period of the day I continued to consider what I was being taught; if it was what I wanted to hear or what I needed to hear. I stepped out of the school doors to be immediately surrounded by a retinue of my father's best guards. My parents had always persuaded me that I needed these guards because "if anyone were to view you, your beauty would have them simply fawning over you" which I did not even know whether was true or false at this point. My fence of men opened up as we approached the limousine so I was able to enter as one of the wolves opened the door for me. I climbed in anxiously, even though I have been doing this ever since I could remember. So many times I have done this that this sanctuary feels like a second home to me. The black leather cousins, the miles of legroom, the pitch black windows (which almost appear pointless considering one cannot even view outside the limousine, and a single light. Of course it never was a home I wished to live in but it might as well be one.

Within a few minutes, we arrived at my home seeing that it was only a mile away from my education quarters. As before, I climbed out the car to meet the same retinue of wolves that once guided me from the school.

Every time I climb from the limousine to view my house no matter how many times I commit this action, I cannot help but stand aghast to where I live. The whole scene is almost like a fairy tale. A grand castle atop a beautiful, grassy hill; the kind of architecture that both brings out the envy in you but leaves you in tears of its magnificence, that is exactly how I view my own home.

With the wolves in black ensconcing me, I made my way to the gates of our home and input the passcode in order to receive admittance to the property. After an astonishing grumble, the gates had opened to the sunny skies of the Mousel manner. The _always _sunny skies of Mousel manner.

Up the cream marble steps I descended; each lifting me above the clouds of my perfect world.

_How can you believe there is a better life aside from yours Felicity? _I disciplined myself. _You have about all you can ask for without doing the dirty work for yourself…_

Supper had approached in the blink of an eye. I, myself, was not in the mood for a meal tonight, for I was too caught up in my own disputes.

_What is this feeling? I have never received this yearning sensation before. What could it possibly mean? Maybe I'm just paranoid…_

In all this deliberating Farrah's voice had completely surpassed my hearing. Through swift movements, I gathered my emotions and put on my happy face along with my happy dress in which is address my parents in and made my way to the grand dining hall.

Approaching the table, I had noticed that everyone was already within their usual seating arrangements; beginning dinner without me.

The table was just about overflowing with about every dish, side or topping you could imagine. Caviar, lobster, mashed potatoes, ratatouille you could practically name a dish and it would be present on that table. I never quite understood why we had to have so much food; it was definitely more than enough for a family of four.

As one of our servants pulled my usual dining chair out from the table, I received a tentative feeling to sit in it. Finally giving myself a kick in the rear end, I encouraged myself to insist that I was simply being unreasonable. My mother, as usual, quickly noticed by abnormal behavior and looked to address it.

"Is something wrong my dear Felicity?" She questioned me as if I were in a police lineup.

_Do not let her know what you are thinking. Remember Mr. Wellington and Farrah._

"Everything is just peachy-keen mother, thank you." I answered apparently not so convincingly as my father joined in on my interrogation.

"You seem rather saddened my dear. You can talk to us we are your parents." He said with his fatherly countenance plastered to his furry face.

_Maybe they will understand; after all they are your own parents. _I contemplated in my head.

"Father I assure you that there is nothing wrong with me, thank you." I responded with my usual tone.

As my father and mother seemed pleased by my response, they continued onto other topics of conversation.

"So how was your day at work dear?" My mother asked in a saccharine manner.

_How does that address __**my**__ problem?_

"Oh it was fantastic! We found we had struck oil on the border of Coral Canyons. Our marketing department estimates that it will expand the company ten-fold."

_You cannot look for help in this. It will do you or anyone else no good._

"Oh father. You're still going full force at such a late age!" Ryland commented.

_Do not do it._

The family then burst into laughter in correspondence to the joke.

_Don't—_

"Why have you been keeping the reality of things away from me and ignoring what there is to consider?" I nearly shouted without consent of my brain of saying such a combination of words.

Silence. That's all that could be heard in a period of ten seconds until my mother had begun to cry. This came as a shock to me considering I had never experienced my family members showing any feelings of moroseness.

"Felicity that is ridiculous why would you utter such a conclusion?" My father said as I saw the tint of distrust of himself in his eyes.

My mind had obviously not learned the consequences of not reviewing my words as words continued to spill from my mouth. "I know you're lying. I know you've been lying for the past fourteen years. Nothing I know is a reality I feel it."

"Felicity please." Ryland asked somberly.

"We have given you everything, we have told you everything, we have provided you with love how could you repay us in such a manner?" My father asked raising his voice. Mother continued to cry louder as the servants left the room feeling what was about to happen.

"You and I both know one of those things are not true. You cannot be happy if you are not unhappy sometimes so how are we happy?" I responded commandingly.

"Felicity go to your room this instant I think it would be in everyone's best interest if you left us be. You are creating a reckless household with the lies you speak!" My father shouted back at me. I had never heard him shout before.

"You are the one who speaks lies." I answered.

_Stop! What are you doing!?_

"I have had it Felicity. Go to your room and calm down. The remainder of the family will finish dinner alone."

"Fuck you." I said in an unmistakably loud whisper.

_You have crossed the line Felicity…_

"Fine, you want to fucking know the truth, huh? Well let me fucking explain it to you. That world out there," he gestured to the window, "is mad house. We have protected you children from the brink of war on our land ever since your birth. With the money we had, we childproofed your entire life. We wanted you guys to experience a childhood without bombing, homicide and suicide that your mother and I had to experience as children, but your fairytale no longer exists now that you had to dig your smart nose deeper. In fact, fairytales never existed in the first place. Life is never a fairy tale; it is a survival upon the foundation of money. Money gives you the power to escape reality, give you comfort, but not even money can assist you out of this issue." Father ended with a monstrous gasp.

All was disorientation from that point on. The words he had spoken worked their way through the head; moving the cranks backwards. I was slowly returning to infancy, to the _start_.

No, that disorientation was not his words, it was the windows. In an instant all windows shattered as countless wolves of black poured into our home. As our servants gathered in an attempt to protect us, they were quickly shot down. I attempted to run from the commotion but as I turned to take one last look at the chaos, a sturdy, tenacious wolf took my by the hem of my dress and hit me four times upon the top of my heat with his club of steel.

And then, _darkness…_

END OF PART ONE

7

© FrostyTheEvilSnowMan


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